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Monday, December 20, 2010

The FedEx man, it appears, has a crush on me, because whenever he comes in here he rambles on and on, and all I can think is, "Don't you have somewhere to be in the World? On time?" I could never work for FedEx because I do not believe in clocks and live in that radical state of cracked thumbtips and inculpable delays. Also, my finger is a little infected and it hurts. Ruin my life.

Using the space bar is dreadful.

The other day FedEx mumbled in front of my desk for a good 55 seconds, which is 35 seconds longer than I am comfortable affording him. Something about, "Oh, hey, I always for-get your last name. Oh, that's right, it's uh...Rossi, like the construction company or the furniture sellers in Oakbrook."

"Martini and," I add, handing him back the Electronic Signature Capturererer with my incomprehensible scribble, which is somewhere between "drunkwasted bar tab authorization" and "look my cat can hold a pen." Odd, because my regular handwriting is sexy as hell.

"Or the martini drink, you got it," he bounces nervously and jabs the inkless plastic pen towards me, "Yeah, and we could like go for one of those sometime, right, that is if your husband don't mind then again you're the kind who'd have one that wouldn't, amirite? Yeah unless you're not married and we don't need anyone's permission which would be nice, or we don't have to go get a drink at all we could just keep this professional, right, Rossi?" He grins and guy nods; his silver tooth gleans with all the fidgetting.

I just smile and raise my eyebrows. Now, if it was Troy The Eagle Messenger guy? I would jump on that. He's one of the only bike messengers I've seen that smells like he showers. He's ideal, all Elliot Gould with classically disheveled helmet hair and a crooked nose that's definitely been broken several times. He also lacks metal teeth, which are really a fucking dealbreaker. I think I would have no problem with the metal teeth if we were already dating and he lost a tooth saving a puppy from the mean old dogcatcher (apparently we live in the 1920's), because I would probably make a boyfriend get metal teeth ironically just to be an asshole and ensure that no bitches try to steal my motherfucking puppysaving man.

"Yeah, you know, you're right, we don't need to go for a drink, I mean hey, you don't know me or my name and I always forget your name, what do I know I'm just the guy that drops off the packages. We don't have to do anything, you know, right? Yeah." He grins again amidst all the bouncing.

"Right. See ya later, Jimmy."

"Oh, you do? You? Yeah, I got it, I get it. Nametag. Yeah. Have a good weekend."

it was sweet of you to call him by his name - a little padding for the swandive he just took for asking you out. and it probably didn't give him false hope. and he probably won't abduct you, and keep you chained in the back of his truck until you agree to have a martini with him...

I have red and white Martini and you in my refrigerator. I use both, depending on the season.

I have a dissimilar relationship with the UPS guy. His is a face that I instinctively like: broad, but with a gap between the two front teeth. He honks and waves when he sees me in the street. I don't know his name, but I count him as a good friend. Would I take a bullet for him? Maybe.

People are what their relationships are, and although I suppose there's a crush, this is a heterosexual thing. It's a human thing. When he delivers a package and asks about my weekend exploits, it seems there's an affirmation of life, an affirmation of me.

I tell you this because you'll listen. Will you be shoveling out parking spaces soon? I'd like to do that.

At least he didn't tell you anything embarrassing about his psychiatric state like other guys tend to do. I sure wouldn't want to know what demons the FedEx guy is fighting to stay off the Hell City Bus. That's a War Hell Ride no one needs to know about.

Hey, Rassles! I just wanted to let you know that I changed the URL on my blog, and I thought you'd want to know, in case you need to change a link or something. Since you're now one of my few (seemingly) regular readers, I thought you'd like to have this. :)

I don't have to sign for packages anymore, and it's a wonderful, wonderful feeling that someone as bright and talented as you will, I hope, experience one day soon.

I had basically no relationship with the FedEx guys. UPS, now. I was down with brown. There was our regular UPS guy, who was married with kids and good looking enough for a guy in his late forties. We'd exchange a little brief chit chat when he came in and we knew each others' names. Then, there was an asshole substitute guy. And THEN, praise the Lord, there was the big, hot, hunk'o'Irish substitute UPS guy. With the creamy skin and the blue eyes and the dark, curly hair. I took a liking to him, and he had a name that is common in my life as I have a brother, an uncle, and now a husband (but then I wasn't even engaged) with the same name.

So one day, the asshole came in and I said, "Where's [name]? He's dreamy." Regular UPS guy came in the next day, handed me a UPS slip and said, "This wasn't my idea." The Irish hunk had sent me his number. I sent back a note that said, "I can't call you. I have a boyfriend. But I'm flattered."

Every time he came in after that, we flirted for two to five minutes. I felt like it must be taking too much time off his route, but he was faster than the regular guy, so maybe he had the time. My then-boyfriend is my now-husband, and I'm super happy about that. But it felt damn good to have Irish hunk flirt with me.

Say something

So, I have a tendency to start sentences with, "So, I have a tendency…” Sometimes I go places, wander off, get lost, and find my way back without realizing I was lost in the first place. And then everyone's all, "where've you been?" and I'm all, "I dunno, over there somewhere." Sometimes I skip breakfast and regret it later.